Promise
by eelatan
Summary: Day 2 of Drabble-A-Day. Jim Moriarty is coming out of hiding. Very slight Reichenbach spoilers.


Day 2 of my Drabble-A-Day challenge. Today's word is **Promise** and here's some Moriarty ;) I'm not entirely sure I like this one but maybe you will?

Beginning. Accusation. Restless. Snowflake. Haze. Flame. Formal. Companion. Move. Silver. Prepared. Knowledge. Denial. Wind. Order. Thanks. Look. Summer. Transformation. Tremble. Sunset. Mad. Thousand. Outside. Winter. Diamond. Letters. Promise. Simple. Future.

As ever, I don't own the Sherlock characters. They're Moffat & Gatiss' to play with.

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Promise

Shimmering dust particles danced in the afternoon sunlight in the gap between the faded curtains. Jim Moriarty watched them with a childlike fascination, his weary Irish eyes moving side to side in an almost reptilian manner. He was growing tiresome of his lurid surroundings. He longed for his lavish life back. He longed for his Egyptian cotton sheets, his Bugati car and his expensive coffee. He missed having to put his suit on. There was only so much Jeremy Kyle he was willing to watch.

It had been four months since what was now fondly known as 'The Fall' and the safe house felt like it was getting smaller. Jim knew Sherlock was still alive. He'd always known he'd find a way to wriggle out of the situation like the snake he was. Sure, Jim had faked it too but it had had the desired effect. Free international advertising; after all, he did have a business to run. Consulting criminals didn't employ themselves.

Jim had watched the seasons turn. He'd seen long, warm days turn to dark evenings with rain and snow. He was sitting here wasting his life, what was the worst that would happen if he reappeared? He'd gotten awfully skinny. Lots of time had been spent thinking and planning and forgetting to eat. The dark circles beneath his eyes had definitely grown. Long nights spent sipping whisky and seething with a silent anger towards his biggest opponent.

Now he had to make a comeback. He had to strive to get back to the top of the game. The kingdom was missing its King. Daddy needed to come home. But just as quickly as he felt triumphant, he felt hot tears sting his eyes. He let one fall and plop onto the grey of the jogging bottoms he'd taken to wearing. As much as Jim hated Sherlock, he missed him. He missed their errant little game. He missed having a reason to live. Sherlock was Jim. Jim was Sherlock. They were polar opposites but ultimately the same person. They strived for the game. It lured them both in though Jim knew Sherlock played on the side of the angels. Moran had tracked him doggedly and found him to be watching over John Watson, the landlady and even little Molly Hooper. Jim smirked at the thought of her. She may have been timid but he had been able to coax out her wild side, even if just for one night. Refocusing quickly, he knew that Sherlock was vulnerable. Sherlock would never admit it but he cared for these people and people who care are weak, as Sherlock had proved that day on the roof.

"Like candy from a baby!" Jim snickered to himself as he stood up and made his way up the stairs to the bedroom full of his extensive wardrobe. He muttered to himself about final problems and a long forgotten promise as he picked out his best Westwood two-piece and tie. Only the best for an occasion such as this.

After showering and shaving, Jim put a Bach record on the gramophone and began to dress slowly. Losing himself in the methodical rhythm, he gently slicked back his jet hair and fixed a solid knot in his Westwood tie. He dropped his Blackberry in the pocket of his suit trousers after sending a quick text to a number he knew wouldn't have changed. Sherlock would have kept it out of sentiment. He probably enjoyed reading the texts that his good Doctor still sent to it.

Silently stepping out into the cool autumn air, Jim made his way up the gravelled path towards the main road. He knew Moran would join him en route to the now infamous 221b Baker Street. Jim suspected that Moran often forgot that he had learnt from the master, so suspecting he wouldn't know that people were watching the safe house was a school boy mistake. As soon as Jim set foot outside the threshold, they'd alert Seb and he'd be on his way to intercept.

Seconds later at the intersection between the drive way and the road, a large black Mercedes screeched to a halt. Jim laughed heartily before reaching for the door handle and sliding inside. He took a deep breath of the scent inside the car. New air freshener and leather seats.

"That was quick even for you Seb, your people are good." Jim drawled in his velvet accent whilst stroking a finger down Seb's jawline.

"There was no way I was letting you go to him without me." Seb squirmed under Jims touch.

"So romantic but now it's time…" Jim's predatory demeanour changed instantly and he was back in business mode.

"Time for what boss?" Seb could almost hear the eye roll that was about to happen.

"The solution Sebastian. The solution to mine and the delectable Sherlock's final problem. I made him a promise on that rooftop which neither of us has yet fulfilled. My standards have slipped somewhat it seems."

Jim's phone bleeped to alert him he had a new text message.

_You'd make quite the dissatisfying lover James, never keeping promises. Let's solve our little problem shall we? Baker St. SH_

"Oh contraire, dear Sherlock. I'm quite the desirable lover, just ask Miss Hooper." Jim tittered to himself as the sleek sports car roared its way towards central London and the resolution of a long-kept promise.


End file.
